


or something ignites in my veins

by thewalrus_said



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Car Sex, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-26 05:37:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16675519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewalrus_said/pseuds/thewalrus_said
Summary: Summer. New friends. Disownment. Murder. Pie. Love?Wait. Go back a couple.





	or something ignites in my veins

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just gonna be upfront with you all and admit that this fic is based on a willful misinterpretation of a Vanessa Carlton song. I know "White Houses" is ostensibly about "youth" and "loss of innocence/virginity" and "friendship" but really, when you get in there and study the ancient texts, it's a song about a group of strangers-turned-friends who accidentally commit a murder in a beach house none of them own. It just is.
> 
> The wonderful art throughout is by [Lynn](http://bittlebarnes.tumblr.com/post/180278512006/i-had-the-chance-to-work-with-thewalrus-said-for), please go and heap much-deserved praise upon her head.
> 
> More info on the tags in the end notes. Enjoy!

The pie was _crap._ Eric was out of money until next week, there were two extremely large men looking at him from the far corner of the dingy diner he was in, he’d spent his last few cents on what was _supposed_ to be a little taste of home, and the pie didn’t even have the decency to be decent. He stabbed at the crust, grimacing as his fork sank in without apparent resistance.

“We are approaching in a nonthreatening manner,” Eric heard from over his left shoulder. He turned to see the two giants he’d noticed earlier approaching, all four hands up. “We realize we are large but you have no need to fear us,” the blond one went on.

“Jesus, Holster,” the other one hissed, dropping his hands. “We just didn’t want to startle you, little dude. Permission to join?”

Eric gaped. “Um, sure. But only if you promise never to call me _little dude_ again,” he added, getting control of himself.

“Fair enough!” They dropped down on either side of him, which, honestly, _would_ have startled him if they’d done it without warning. They were very large. “I’m Holster,” the blond one said. “This is Ransom. Why are you scowling at that piece of pie like it offended you?”

“Because it _has_ offended me,” Eric muttered. “The peaches are overcooked, the crust is underdone, and that’s not even getting into the presentation.” Slapped on the plate like an afterthought, no wonder the slice looked like it had given up. Eric could almost relate.

“Then why are you eating it?” Ransom asked. “Like, no offense, new bro, but it looks like every bite hurts you.”

Eric did some rapid mental math. The two of them made about four of him, true, but if they hadn’t hit him on hearing his voice, they likely weren’t going to, based on his experience. Besides, Ransom sounded genuinely curious. “I got homesick,” he admitted, unable to stop his shoulders hunching in a little. “Blew my food budget for the day on a piece of peach pie, so I gotta eat it even though it’s garbage.”

Holster frowned. “Kicked out or ran away?” At Eric’s glance, he shrugged and said, “No one spends their food budget on homesickness if they can at least call home.”

Eric swallowed. “I was… _strongly encouraged_ to spend the summer ‘finding myself,’” he said. He could hear the bitterness in his own voice. “So, the former, dressed up to look like the latter, I guess.”

He could tell Ransom and Holster were having a silent conference over his head, and busied himself with choking down another bite of the doughy horror on his plate. “Right,” Holster said finally. “Newest bro of ours, what would you say if I told you that I’d had the peach pie and I didn’t think it was all that bad?”

Eric shook his head. “I’d say, give me a farmer’s market and a semi-decent kitchen and I’d put you right in no time. I could do better’n this in my sleep.”

“Sold,” Ransom said, and they stood. “Because it just so happens that we are on our way to spend a few weeks in a delightful little beach bungalow with a _superb_ kitchen and a fruit stand a mere ten minutes away.”

Eric squinted and stayed sitting. This seemed too good to be true. “Is this a sex thing?” he asked finally. “Are you kidnapping me for a lurid sex party? Or a crime of some kind?”

“Nah,” Holster said, shrugging. “I mean, sure, there’s usually a fair amount of sex, but consent is key, bitty bro. None of us are gonna force you, scout’s honor.” He stuck out his hand. “Adam Birkholtz.”

Eric slowly shook it, and then shook Ransom’s hand when he stuck it out. “Justin Oluransi,” Ransom said. “Our two friends are Jack Zimmermann and Shitty Knight.”

“Shitty?”

Ransom nodded solemnly. “His true first name is a mighty gift he only bestows on the worthy, so we can’t tell you or he’d kill us. I think ‘Shitty’ is in his official police record, though, so if we’re lying and you have to call the cops, they’ll know who you’re talking about.”

Eric looked down at the pie crust he hadn’t forced down yet. “You really thought this was good?” he asked, looking back up at Holster.

“Ask Rans, I said it was delicious,” he said. Ransom nodded.

Eric sighed. “I’m Eric Bittle. Take me to the kitchen.”

\-- 

Eric made it about twenty minutes into the drive before he said, “Okay, I’m going to need some more details, please.”

“Details about what?” Ransom asked from the passenger seat.

“Details about everything. Who you are, who your friends are, where you’re taking me. If I’m being kidnapped to be your pie slave, I oughta know what I’m in for.”

“First of all,” Holster said, “We will pay you for ingredients and labor and you can totally leave at any time, don’t joke like that around Shits or he’ll kill me.”

“Noted.”

“Second,” Ransom cut in, “we are headed to a lovely beach house in Martha’s Vineyard, to spend two weeks in company with two of our dearest friends. Full disclosure,” he added. “None of us own the beach house, but we’ve been breaking into the same one for five years now and they haven’t changed the locks, which is basically an invitation at this point.”

“We always leave it better than we found it,” Holster said, with the practiced air of someone who’d spent time saying it in the mirror. “Shitty insists.”

Eric couldn’t help himself; he snorted and raised an eyebrow. “Whoever Shitty is, I’m guessing they’re basically the den mother?”

Holster howled with laughter. “Yeah, basically, and that you should _definitely_ say in front of him, he’ll get a kick out of it.”

Eric grinned. “So why the crime? Why not just rent a house?”

Ransom shrugged. “Brings us back to when we were all college dirtbags together, which is the whole point of the trip. We’re all respectable dipshits now with real adult jobs, so once a year we cut loose and remember what it’s like to be young again.”

“Fair enough.” Eric took this in, then asked, “And who are the others? Shitty and… Jack, wasn’t it?”

“Shitty’s a hot shot lawyer in Boston, you’ll either love him or fucking hate him, but it’s our Magical Vacation and I say you’re gonna love him,” Holster answered. “He’s always got really shitty weed that gets you toasted, and he reads feminist theory books in his spare time. He’s gonna take one look at you and declare you family, by the way,” he added, catching Eric’s eye in the rearview mirror. “Be prepared for a new mother figure.”

Eric laughed. “I think I can handle that. And Jack?”

Holster sighed. When he was finished, Ransom sighed. It did not fill Eric with confidence. Finally, Ransom said, “Jack’ll probably have a huge stick up his ass that we brought you, but he always gets there later and we’ll have time to set Shitty up to run interference, which will help. He’s a good dude, honestly, but he’s got his issues.”

“Don’t we all,” Eric muttered. Louder, he asked, “What’s Jack do?”

“Owns half a hockey team, shared with his dad,” Ransom said. “He used to play but he doesn’t anymore. Don’t ask him about it, at least not till he’s warmed up to you.”

“Probably not even then,” Holster put in. “He’ll probably sulk for a day or so, but if he’s too big of an ass to you just tell Shitty and Shitty’ll sort him out. They’re close, Jack listens to him.”

“Okay. Stay close to Shitty, avoid Jack for a while. Got it.” Eric nodded, mostly to himself. He could handle that, he thought. “Anyone else?”

“Nope, just the four of us.” Eric saw Ransom and Holster exchange a look in the rearview mirror, but they didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t ask.

Another hour and a half saw them to a grocery store. Holster and Ransom set Bitty loose with firm instructions to get everything he’d need to “make, like, seven pies at _least,_ bro,” and went off themselves, presumably to gather the rest of the groceries they’d need. Eric, after a few moments’ dithering, decided to take them at their word about paying for supplies, and filled nearly an entire basket with butter.

The fruit stand was next, and Bitty spent almost forty-five minutes in discussion with the farmer behind the peaches display, weighing the fruits in his hand and asking about pesticides. Ransom and Holster, to their credit, entertained themselves better than anyone Bitty had ever gone produce shopping with, save his own mother. They left with two bags of peaches, a bag each of apples, strawberries, and pears, and two bunches of grapes that Ransom and Holster had started absentmindedly picking at.

Finally, Holster pulled the car up a driveway towards the most expansive one-story house Bitty had ever seen. “Home sweet home,” Holster said, parking by the back door.

“For someone, anyway,” Ransom added.

Holster had the lock picked in under two minutes, and then Bitty was standing in a kitchen that lived up to every one of their promises. “Out,” he said, once the two giants had finished unloading the groceries onto the counter. “Everybody out, I need to be alone with this kitchen.”

“You got it, bitty bro.” Holster clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll put your bag in the spare room, it’s the one at the very end of the hall. You’ll be next to Jack, but don’t let that scare you.”

“Holler if you need anything,” Ransom followed up with his own shoulder clap, and then Eric was alone.

“Alright, darlin’,” Eric said to the oven, running a hand along the door handle. “Let’s see what you can do.”

She could do _wonders,_ it turned out. Eric had two peach pies cooling and a pecan pie baking before he had to stop for breath. He wandered out to explore the rest of the house, meandering down to the end of the hallway to start with his room. It was small, given the size of the house, but well decorated, and the bed looked comfortable. There was a bathroom on one side of him, and two bedrooms down the other side with enough space in between that Eric suspected another bathroom. That left only an office-looking room and one other bedroom, though, which made him suspicious that he was kicking either Ransom or Holster out of their usual room. Well, there was no call for that. Eric was a guest in this house; he would be perfectly happy to take the couch.

He went back into the living room to investigate it, and immediately revised all his opinions. Ransom and Holster were curled up on said couch, cuddling like they did it every day. It looked like Ransom had a mouthful of Holster’s hair, even. Eric backed back into the kitchen to think.

Were they together? It looked like it, given how wrapped in each other’s arms they were. And it might explain their dynamic. Maybe that’s why they had picked Eric out at the diner; maybe they could sense he was queer like them. Assuming they _were_ queer like him, anyway. Eric had never been to college; maybe college boys hugged in their sleep all the time. He had no way of knowing. After about half an hour of dithering, Eric decided not to kill himself wondering about it. Either they were or they weren’t, and he certainly wouldn’t find out standing in the kitchen alone with three pies. He went out to wake them up.

“Holy fuck, bro, what smells like heaven?” Ransom muttered, when Eric poked him in the shoulder.

“Bro, I haven’t even put that in my mouth yet and it already tastes better than the diner one,” Holster said, without opening his eyes. He flailed his hand about until it landed on Eric’s arm and patted. “You’ve made a convert of me, Eric. When can we eat it?”

“The peach ones, now,” Eric said. “The pecan needs a little more cooling time. Y’all got ice cream at the store, right?”

 --

“I’m telling you, Shits, you’re gonna fall in love at first sight with this kid. He’s gonna be your new son,” Eric heard Holster say through the open kitchen window.

“Except we got there first and he’s our son,” Ransom put in. “So you can’t have him.”

A third, unfamiliar voice said, “I can’t _believe_ you brought a random to our sacred weekend, brahs. This is so _beyond_ unprecedented, this is our _sacred weekend -”_ before the back door swung open and Eric made eye contact with the speaker over his extensive mustache. _“Brah,”_ the man breathed reverently. “Is that smell what I think it is?”

“Strawberry cream pie,” Eric said, placing it onto the counter gently. The filling jiggled slightly on impact. He could see the moment Mustache’s soul was lost. “You must be Shitty.”

Shitty snapped out of his daze at the sound of his name. “And so I am. Have you been named yet?”

“Nah, man. We wanted you two to have your own little bonding moment.” Ransom clapped Shitty on the shoulder and steered him around the counter to Eric’s side. “Shitty Knight, meet Eric Bittle.”

Shitty’s eyes lit up. “Brah, we could _rhyme!_ ‘Bitty’ sound good?”

“Um, I guess?” Eric shrugged.

Two big hands landed on his shoulders. “Then I dub thee Bitty, baker of pies, stealer of men’s hearts, and bittiest of bros.” Ransom and Holster high-fived behind him. “Welcome to the Haus, Bitty.”

Eric - Bitty, now, he supposed - was surprisingly touched, more than he’d expected to be when Ransom and Holster had given him the briefing that morning. He covered it by turning back to the oven to shut the heat off. “Glad to be here. Give that a bit to cool and I’ll get it whipped and berried.” When he turned back, Shitty was giving him a knowing glance, as if getting unexpectedly emotional was par for the course. Maybe it was. None of these men were acting like they should anyway. “Now someone has to tell me what Jack’s favorite pie is, so I can have that ready for when he gets here.”

“I don’t eat pie.”

Ransom, Holster, and Shitty got identical deer-in-the-headlights expressions, which would have made Bitty laugh if he weren’t panicking.

The most beautiful man Bitty had ever seen was standing in the other threshold, staring at Bitty with all the hostility Bitty had been expecting since Ransom and Holster first approached him. “Someone want to explain why there’s a stranger in the middle of our Haus?” the man - Jack - asked, voice steely and quiet.

Bitty wanted nothing more than to flee. He knew he could make it into the treeline before Jack could catch him, he was small and speedy enough, but there were three large bros frozen solid between him and the back door. So instead, he took refuge in Southern hospitality. “No?” he asked, slipping his best debutante smile on. “There must be somethin’ you like I can bake for you, in any case. What’s your poison?”

It didn’t work. “Shitty,” Jack all but growled, turning on his heel and stalking into the living room.

Shitty clasped Bitty’s shoulder again before he went. “Okay, that was bad, but hand to God, I swear he’s not going to hurt you,” he muttered. “He wouldn’t dream of it, I promise, and we’re all on your side anyway. He’ll come around.” Jack shouted for him again. Shitty waited for Bitty’s nod before letting go and following him out.

“We’re so sorry, bro, he’s usually much later than this, we thought we’d have time to brief him like we did Shitty.” Ransom took a huge step towards Bitty as he spoke. Bitty flinched, unable to stop himself, and Ransom froze again. His face was stricken when Bitty finally looked up at him. “Look, if you want to leave, we’ll drop you anywhere you want, bro. No questions asked.”

Bitty must have looked more scared than he thought. He shook his head, forcing himself upright again. “Nonsense. I’m sure Shitty’s right and it’ll all blow over. Besides,” he added, making an effort to sound airy. “I have to convert him to the pie lifestyle. You said he’s Canadian, right? Dual citizenship?” Ransom nodded. “I’ll have to go stereotypical, if he won’t give me a preference. Search those cupboards for any maple syrup, will you, Holster?”

 --

Jack condescended to reappear after about two hours. The first hour was spent shouting at Shitty upstairs, loud enough to make Bitty start to feel honestly guilty about disrupting the man’s vacation. Shitty didn’t look too upset when he came down the stairs, though. “So sorry about him, Bitty Brah. He’ll come around, I promise.” He flopped down next to Bitty on the couch and dropped his head unselfconsciously onto Bitty’s shoulder. “Now tell me all about yourself. Spare no details.”

He’d telegraphed his movements enough that Bitty could keep the half of him now pressed against Shitty relaxed; the rest of his body was instinctively tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop. After enough of a pause for it to start getting awkward, Bitty decided he wasn’t going to be smacked for touching and asked, “What do you want to know?”

“Believe I already answered that. _Every detail,_ Bitty, if we’re gonna be bros.” He seemed to notice that Bitty wasn’t entirely at ease, though, and added, “We can start small. Where’re you from, how’d you end up here with that accent?”

That, unfortunately, was not likely to make Bitty less tense. “I’m from Georgia,” he started. “Spending the summer hitchhiking around, goin’ nowhere in particular. I wound up in Massachusetts about a week ago, Ransom and Holster found me a few days ago, and here we are.”

Shitty frowned. “They never pick up hitchhikers.”

“Wasn’t hitchhiking. They saw me choking down a terrible peach pie and decided to sweep me off my feet.”

That got a chuckle. “Sounds like them. They’re good guys.” Shitty sat up. “Jack’s a good guy too, I promise. He’s just not good with sudden changes to plan. It ain’t your fault. He’ll cool off.”

Bitty flexed his shoulder. Shitty’s head had been _heavy._ “And you?” Shitty raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you a good guy too?”

Instead of the wide grin Bitty had expected, Shitty gave a small wry smile and a shrug. “Probably not, but I do my best. Too fuckin’ privileged,” he added, seeing the confusion on Bitty’s face. “Too much money and too many people like me around growin’ up. But I’m workin’ on it.”

“I see.” Bitty could tell he meant it, and weirdly, it made Bitty trust him more. “I whipped up a maple-apple pie while you were upstairs. You have to leave a piece for Jack, but help yourself.”

“How in the fuck did you make a whole pie while I was getting chewed out?” Shitty pushed himself to his feet. “Seriously, brah, are you magic?”

Bitty winked. “Don’t tell anyone.”

 --

Bitty spent forty-eight hours calling on every Southern passive-aggressive cell in his body before Ransom pulled him aside after breakfast. “You’ve almost done it,” he said in a whisper. “Holster and I have money on it, so if you could win Jack over some time before sunset I’d really appreciate it.”

“I’ll see what I can do, but I don’t think that’s really up to me,” Bitty said primly. It was true, Jack’s scowl had been a little less ferocious over his omelet, maybe, but Bitty wasn’t convinced that meant anything. Probably the muscles in that chiseled face were just sore.

“Nah, he’s almost chilled out, trust me.” Ransom patted Bitty’s shoulder. “Congrats, man. Knew you could do it.”

Bitty elected not to point out that he hadn’t _done_ anything, instead patting Ransom’s shoulder in turn. Ransom took that as an answer and disappeared, leaving Bitty with the pile of breakfast dishes still in the sink.

Sure enough, however, Jack appeared barely a minute later, hovering on the threshold until Bitty sighed and said, “Come in or leave, just make up your mind one way or the other.”

Jack came in, picking up a dishrag and starting to dry the pans stacked next to the sink. Bitty raised an eyebrow but left him to it. “Breakfast was really good today,” Jack said, after a few minutes of quiet. “Yesterday too. You’re, uh. A really good cook.”

“Well, thank you, Mr. Zimmermann. I do try.”

The exchange seemed to have taken all of Jack’s conversational abilities, and they lapsed back into silence, save for the splash of water and the clink of the dishes as Bitty added another to the pile. Once he was done scrubbing, Bitty moved on to drying with a rag of his own, and they were done in no time. “Thank you for the help,” Bitty said, taking Jack’s rag and hanging it up next to his own.

“Euh, no problem." Jack shoved his hands in his pockets and hesitated, practically rocking back and forth on his heels.

“Shall we call an end to the hostilities, then?” Bitty asked, taking pity on him.

Jack actually _laughed,_ running a hand through his hair with a rueful expression. “I think that would be good, yeah. Truce.”

He didn’t actually apologize, Bitty noted, but he was no longer reading as a threat to Bitty’s safety, so he would take it as a victory. “Well then, Mr. Zimmermann. Your favorite baked good, chop-chop.”

“Is that a requirement for friendship with you?”

“You bet your behind it is! Now spill.”

Jack blushed, nearly making Bitty drop the sponge. “You, uh. You actually got it right? On Monday, I mean.”

Bitty deliberately put the sponge down before he could drop it. “You mean maple sugar-crusted apple pie is your favorite baked good?”

A shrug. “I dunno about that, but it’s definitely my favorite pie.” He grinned at Bitty, sudden and blinding. “Go on, call me a stereotype. I dare you.”

Bitty huffed. “I wouldn’t _dream_ of making such an accusation, how dare you imply such a thing.” He nodded to the dishrag on the counter. “Now, if you’re going to be in my kitchen, you’re going to work. Grab a few handfuls of butter out of the fridge, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Your kitchen? How is this _your_ kitchen?” Jack did as he was told, though, coming back with an armload of butter and snagging the flour from its resting place too. “Pretty sure this house belongs to someone else.”

“Possession is nine-tenths of the law, they say. I was lured here for this kitchen, and I lay claim to it. I’ll fight anyone who tries to take it from me.”

Bitty could almost _feel_ the once-over Jack gave him, but before he could brace himself for impact Jack snorted. “Wouldn’t take those odds. It’s always the little ones that leave you bleeding.”

 

Jack proved a surprisingly good friend, once they were no longer at each other’s throats. He volunteered himself and his truck for Bitty’s frequent trips to the grocery store and fruit stand, and though Bitty had expected them to be music-filled, conversation-less chores, Jack had other ideas. “What’s your favorite kind of pie?” Jack asked, five minutes into their first grocery run.

Bitty laughed, shaking his head. “You could not have asked a worse icebreaker question, Jack. No, it’s not your fault,” he added, when Jack started to look rueful. “It’s just, you’re not the first person to ask, and years of trying to find an answer have led me to: My favorite kind of pie is one I’ve made that someone else is enjoying.”

Jack frowned. He didn’t look upset, more confused. “You must have a favorite flavor.”

Bitty shook his head again. “I honestly don’t. My favorite part of a pie is the making of it, hands down, no question, and my favorite part of eating it is doing it with someone I care about. I love pie, but the type almost doesn’t factor in, when it comes to eating.”

Jack made a low humming noise. "I guess that makes sense.”

“Yeah?” Bitty asked, genuinely surprised. “No one’s ever said that before.”

Jack shrugged. “You always look like you’re having, uh, a really good time? When you’re baking. It looks fun, even when you’re concentrating really hard on, what’s it called, the lattice? I dunno, you’re just always beaming when you’re elbow-deep in flour. It makes sense that the making is better than the eating, for you.”

Bitty had to look out the window and blink a few times. “Well, shucks, Jack. I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about my baking. And latticing _is_ fun,” he added, once he’d gotten hold of himself a bit. “I’ll show you later, there’s nothin’ like seeing it all come together.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Jack said, with enough sincerity in his voice that Bitty believed him.

The days passed quickly, settling into enough of a routine to keep Bitty calm. He made breakfast for the boys, who were effusive in their praises and gone when it came time to do the dishes, except Jack, who always insisted on doing the bulk of it. Swimming with Ransom, Holster, and Shitty after they’d all digested a bit; Jack always took a few hours to himself in the house and then joined them. Sandwiches for lunch, scrabbled together as they could find it. A post-eating nap, Bitty and Jack in their own rooms while the others mostly piled up together on the couch or in one of their beds. Sometimes Shitty wandered over into Jack’s bed, where he got shouted at but not removed. Then a trip to either the store or the fruit stand, while Ransom and Holster got started on dinner. After dinner, they all lazed around the living room, talking or watching television while drinking more or less continually. Sometimes Shitty would cuddle Bitty, which was nice, even if he reeked of weed literally all the time.

It was a good, solid routine, and one that quickly brought all four boys into Bitty’s circle of people he trusted. They were jocks, yes, but they were good-hearted, and they all seemed harmless. Besides which, if Ransom and Holster weren’t officially together, then at least they desperately wanted to be. Bitty wasn’t sure they knew themselves. He asked Jack about it once, just said, “Holster and Ransom…” and let his voice trail away. Jack just shrugged, a little frown of uncertainty on his face, and Bitty let it go. Either way, Bitty knew he could safely tell the boys about himself and it would be fine. He hadn’t, yet, but as the days passed he felt more and more confident that he _could._ If he wanted to. It was a nice feeling.

Friday threw him for a loop a little. As Bitty and Jack were preparing for their supplies run, Shitty clapped Jack on the shoulder and said, “Tomorrow’s Spin the Bottle, brah. Don’t forget.”

Bitty lasted about ten minutes into the drive before he broke. “Did I hear him right?” he asked, twisting his fingers in the hem of his shirt. “Spin the Bottle tomorrow?”

“You heard right,” Jack said. “He was reminding me to get the cheapest bottle of wine I can find. It’s tradition. We drink it and then spin it.”

“Sounds fun.” Bitty wasn’t entirely sure he sounded as convincing as he meant to. “Is it, uh. Mandatory?”

“You can opt out, Shitty’s orders, but you’ll probably be the only one. No one’s opted out since Rans got dumped two years ago.” Jack looked sideways at Bitty from the driver’s seat. “Why? Worried it’ll make you gay?”

There was a harsh note in his voice, one Bitty hadn’t heard since his first few days with them, but instead of making him defensive, this time it made him honest. “Oh, sweetheart, that ship done sailed a _long_ time ago,” he muttered. He bit his lip and looked over at Jack; Jack looked abashed, but not horrified, or like he was gonna spin a bottle into Bitty’s teeth. “It ain’t that, it’s just… Well, it’ll be my first one.”

“It’ll be your first kiss?” Jack repeated. Bitty fancied he saw Jack give him the once-over, as if he couldn’t believe it. Wishful thinking, but Bitty could use the confidence boost.

“First time it’ll count, anyway.” Patrice back in Georgia had been more than willing to let Bitty experiment behind the bleachers during football practice, but then, she’d told him after that it was more for her benefit than his, casting a nervous eye over at the cheerleaders. “Might not be so bad, I guess,” Bitty eventually added, looking out the window. “Kind of a nice way to get it over with. Low stakes, weird as that is to say.”

In the window’s reflection, Bitty saw Jack open his mouth, close it again, and finally say, “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Bitty turned to look at him again. He quirked one side of his mouth up. “My first kiss with a boy was supposed to be low-stakes too, but that turned into a whole mess of shit for both of us.”

“Doesn’t seem like Shitty’d be the type to make trouble for you.”

“Wasn’t Shitty.” Jack took the exit, taking Bitty by surprise; he’d lost track of the drive. “My ex. Kent.”

The truck pulled into the lot next to the tomato stall and they sat in silence for a few minutes. “Well,” Bitty said, rubbing his hands together once he’d had enough of his own thoughts. “Look at us, swappin’ secrets and unburdenin’ our souls.” He unbuckled his seat belt. “I need more butter. Those peaches we got yesterday have gone perfect, I’m gonna rock y’all’s worlds tonight.”

Jack laughed, in his odd, stilted way. “I look forward to it.”

 --

Bitty spent most of Saturday more or less in a tizzy. It didn’t help that, to his inexperienced eye, Jack seemed even more awkward with him than normal. It might have been left over from Jack’s revelation about his ex the day before, but Bitty couldn’t help but think of the once-over Jack had given him. It played over and over in his mind, analyzed and interrogated to within an inch of his life, and by the time dinner was over and Holster was draining the last of the cheap wine they’d bought, Bitty was a twitchy mixture of nervous and turned on.

“SPIN TIME,” Shitty hollered from the living room, to where Jack and Bitty stood finishing up the dinner dishes in the kitchen. “Get on out here, boys.”

Shitty, Ransom, and Holster had shoved the couch of the way and were sitting on the floor in a loose circle. Bitty dropped down between Ransom and Shitty, Jack between Ransom and Holster. “As always,” Shitty began, “nothing here is binding. Please back out at any time, no questions asked, kissing is fun but only when it’s consensual. Any questions?” He paused, and then reached out to give the bottle a spin where it already lay in the center. “Then let the games begin.”

“It’s gonna land on Jack,” Ransom whispered to Bitty, just as the bottle began to slow. He was right. Shitty grabbed hold of Jack’s shirt collar and pulled him in, kissing him hard and with a truly excessive amount of tongue.

Bitty had never examined Jack’s jawline from this close, and certainly never while Jack was kissing someone. He’d never observed _anyone’s_ jawline while in the midst of kissing, but he suspected that no other jawline could possibly live up to what he was seeing now. He flicked his eyes away for a moment, just to check, but Holster was watching almost as avidly as Bitty, and Ransom gave him a sideways grin when Bitty glanced over at him.

Shitty pulled away from Jack with a smack. “Hell of a way to start off the night,” he announced, wiping a hand across his mustache and waggling his eyebrows at them all.

“It’s the same way we start off every Spin night,” Holster grumbled. “You always land on Jack first spin, I swear you cheat.”

“If you tell me how I can possibly be cheating at Spin the Bottle, my dear Holster, I’ll stop doing it.”

“So you admit you’re cheating, then,” Jack said, reaching out to set the bottle spinning again.

“I admit nothing!” Shitty hollered, pointing a finger at Jack and Holster in turn. “The burden of proof is on the plaintiff! Plaintiffs, although Jack, I don’t know why you’re complaining, I am a _fantastic_ kisser.”

“Yeah, that’s why Lardo dumped you,” Ransom muttered from next to Bitty. It was too low for Shitty to hear, but Bitty saw Holster shoot him a warning look before the bottle began to slow.

It landed on Bitty. Of _course_ it landed on Bitty. Shitty whooped, clapping Jack on the shoulder. “Taking our newest member’s Spinginity, Jacko! Quite a responsibility.”

“Spinginity?” Bitty asked, rubbing his suddenly-sweaty palms against his shorts.

“Spin the Bottle virginity,” Ransom said. He put his hand on Bitty’s back and pushed him forward, almost toppling him face-first onto the ground. “Get on with it.”

Jack had also moved forward, Bitty saw when he looked up, and there was a shy smile on his face. Before Bitty could get nervous, there were two big, warm hands on his face and Jack was kissing him.

It was a pretty plain kiss, as far as Bitty could tell. Much less tongue than Patrice had used, and it only lasted a few seconds. There was nothing at all in it to warrant the warmth spreading across Bitty’s cheeks or down his neck, or the urge to giggle he only barely managed to fight down. “I can see why Shitty keeps cheating,” Bitty murmured, for Jack’s ears only. Jack laughed, finally letting go of his face.

“No sweet nothings!” Shitty shouted. “This is pure horny necking! Romance is for after hours.”

Bitty’s spin landed on Holster. While Holster couldn’t quite distract Bitty from the fact that he’d just kissed Jack, he put forth a damn good effort, and Bitty was blushing hard by the end of it. Holster took a look at his face and shrugged. “Figured it was worth a shot,” he said, and spun. Jack winked when Bitty caught his eye.

Holster landed on Shitty, who landed on Ransom, who landed on Bitty, who landed on Jack. Jack tugged him almost into his lap as they kissed this time, and Bitty pulled back only reluctantly. Jack’s eyes were wide and dark, and he seemed as unwilling to let go of Bitty as Bitty was to be let go of.

“The sooner you spin, the sooner you can kiss him again, brah,” Shitty stage-whispered, finally breaking their eye contact. Jack reached out to cuff him on the back on the head, spinning with his other hand.

Jack to Shitty, Shitty to Ransom, and then finally, Ransom’s spin landed on Holster. “Well, that’s the game,” Shitty said, as Holster flung himself on top of Ransom and put his kiss with Bitty to shame. “Usually it lasts a bit longer,” he explained, “but the bottle does what it wants, and we can never pry them apart once they get going.” Holster lifted a hand from Ransom’s shirt buttons to flip Shitty off. “I would say fuck you too, but I know that’s in your near future,” Shitty said snappishly. He stood, using Jack’s shoulder as balance. “I’m going to bed, unloved and unfucked. G’night, brahs.”

Jack leaned close to Bitty. “One year, they landed on each other on the third spin. Shitty sulked for a full day afterward.” Bitty laughed, swaying closer, and Jack helped him to his feet. “I’m going to head to my room too,” Jack said. Bitty tried desperately not to read anything into the lack of any mention of sleep, and just nodded. He gave Holster and Ransom one final look and went off to his own bedroom.

He took advantage of Holster and Ransom’s preoccupation to take a longer shower than normal, and if he jerked off under the water, then that was between him and the showerhead. Jack’s hands had just felt so _good_ , on his face and arms and hips; natural, like they were meant to be there.

Bitty took longer than he ever had brushing his teeth, scraping the brush over his tongue and gargling the toothpaste-y mess before finally spitting. Despite having just gotten out of the shower, he was tempted to wash his face again; surely his flush meant he was sweating something fierce. His skin was dry under his fingers, though, and then there was nothing else to do. Padding out of the bathroom, he walked to his door, put a hand on the knob, looked around, and then turned, slipping across the hall and through Jack’s unlocked door before he could change his mind.

The light was on in the bathroom Jack shared with Shitty, and Bitty could hear Jack moving around, see his shadow towel off its hair across the floor. Bitty sat on the edge of the bed, fingers twisting into the bedsheets, and counted out the sticks of butter for his Aunt Judy’s cobbler in his head one by one until finally the light in the bathroom switched off and Jack stepped over the threshold. Bitty looked up just as Jack noticed him, eyes wide in the dim light of the bedside lamp. “Lord, I hope I read this right,” Bitty whispered. At the sound of his voice, Jack started moving, long strides to drop down next to Bitty, and their mouths were back together almost before Bitty could finish the sentence.

“I was hoping,” Jack said against his jaw, tongue slipping out to wet his lips and getting Bitty’s neck in the process, making him shiver. Bitty took a fistful of Jack’s sleep shirt and tugged, leaning back until he could get his legs onto the bed. He kissed Jack again, and one of Jack’s big hands slid under his back to tug him even closer.

 --

Jack was an even better kisser in the light of day. The night’s makeouts had been nearly frantic, brand new and fiery, despite their hands staying firmly over their clothes. In the morning, however, Jack kissed Bitty like he’d been doing it for years, unhurried and thorough, and one hand slipped slowly up under Bitty’s shirt, pressing flat over what muscle definition Bitty had managed to keep, one finger reaching up to slowly circle a nipple. Bitty gave a quiet moan into Jack’s mouth, making Jack chuckle against his lips.

Hunger drove them out of bed not long after. Bitty couldn’t seem to take two steps in the kitchen without Jack’s hand or hip making contact with him. “You are driving me _crazy,_ Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty murmured, after the third time he had to put the spatula down and just breathe for a few seconds.

“Likewise, Bittle,” Jack whispered into his hair.

“Nice as it is, I’m gonna burn these pancakes if you’re not more careful.”

Jack backed off, hands up and grinning. Bitty stuck out his tongue at him.

They had to keep apart in the grocery store during their regular run after breakfast. It was hard enough to manage that Bitty almost regretted not burning a pancake or two. Jack seemed to be struggling with it too, if his twitching hands and frequent looks were any indication.

Jack pulled off the highway two stops early, on their way back to the Haus. Bitty sat up a little straighter in his seat. Another minute down the road was an abandoned gas station, half in ruins, grass growing up through the asphalt of the parking lot. Jack drove around behind the building and parked; as soon as the engine was off Bitty fumbled open his seatbelt and flung himself over into Jack’s lap.

Jack tasted like the chocolate chip pancakes Bitty had made for him that morning, and something about that, the domesticity, sent a possessive thrill through Bitty’s stomach. Jack’s hands settled on his waist, nearly spanning it with his big, big hands, and Bitty hitched closer, tugging on Jack’s hair to kiss him deeper.

“Backseat?” Jack asked after a few minutes of heated necking. Bitty nodded from where he was sucking lightly on the skin below Jack’s ear. He had to stop for a minute to scramble into the backseat without either of them getting elbowed, but once there Jack stripped his shirt off and lay down, and that was worth it.

Jack was delightful to kiss from this angle, giving and pliant, and he could get both hands firmly on Bitty’s ass. “Can I,” Jack breathed, his fingers dancing around the waistband of Bitty’s shorts.

“Sweetheart, any question that involves you putting those hands of yours just about anywhere on me is gonna get a yes.”

“In that case.” Jack sat up. “Glove compartment?”

Bitty stretched and got the glove compartment open. Jack groped him as he did, fingernails scratching lightly on the skin of Bitty’s thigh, just under the hem of the shorts. Bitty reached and pulled out a bottle of lubricant. “Did you buy this just now?” Bitty asked, passing it back and shutting the compartment. “Aren’t we presumptuous.” He kissed Jack hard, bearing them both back down.

“I was hoping.”

Bitty smirked. “Hoping I’d let you pull me off in the backseat of your truck?” He leaned back again, this time to pull his shirt off. Jack followed, his mouth moving to lick and bite across Bitty’s chest.

Some more shifting and Bitty was straddling Jack’s lap, knees spread as Jack worked at the button of his shorts. “Do you have any idea what these damn things have been doing to me all morning?” Jack hissed, tugging the zipper down and kissing Bitty’s nipple.

“They’ve been doing what I put them on to do.” Bitty took charge of the bottle, squirting some lubricant into Jack’s waiting hand. “Oh, sweet Mother of _Christ_ yes,” he gasped as Jack’s fingers wrapped around his erection. “Shit, Jack, that feels so good.”

Like a magnet, Jack’s free hand was back on Bitty’s ass, grabbing a handful of skin under the now-gaping waistband of Bitty’s shorts and kneading as Bitty rocked into his other hand. “You’re so gorgeous, Bits,” Jack murmured. “So goddamn pretty, so beautiful, I want to make you feel so good.”

“You’re doin’ that, for sure.” Bitty ran a hand through his sweaty hair. “Ain’t gonna be long now.”

Jack bit at his collarbone. “Come on, let me feel you, I want to see what you look like when I make you finish.”

That did it; Bitty gave a yelp that under any other circumstances would have shamed him and spilled into Jack’s hand. “Can I,” he said as soon as he had enough air, grabbing for where the bottle had wedged itself next to Jack’s thigh. “Can I, Jack -”

“Fuck, Bits, please.” Jack was quieter than Bitty with a hand wrapped around his dick, but Bitty could see his eyes dilating, watch the sweat bead at his temples and roll down his cheek, feel the heaving of his chest as he panted. “Yes, _yes,_ just like that, don’t stop,” Jack breathed, and then he gave a whimper Bitty would remember all his life, and came.

Bitty could see the corner of a rag peeking out from under the seats. He snagged it while Jack caught his breath and wiped his own hand off, then Jack’s. He balled up the rag, tossed it to one side, and leaned forward to kiss Jack with everything he had. “God above, that was incredible.”

Jack took his jaw in one palm and kissed him harder, making Bitty rock his hips forward slightly like there was any hope at all of going again.

 --

The days started slipping past again, only now with more teasing from Shitty whenever Bitty and Jack brushed past each other. Holster scrutinized Bitty’s reactions to Shitty’s teasing for a full twenty-four hours, then apparently decided that Bitty was sufficiently okay with it and joined in. Ransom limited himself to supportive winks and thumbs-ups whenever Bitty happened to catch his eye.

Bitty’s nights were slipping past too, but in a different way. There was so much of Jack’s skin to explore and put his mouth and fingers on, so many ways to touch and kiss every part of his body, and Bitty was starting to suspect there would never be enough time to learn them all. Their midday naps were more crucial than ever; there were better things to do at night than sleep.

 Wednesday dawned bright and clear, the sun reaching through the blinds and under Jack’s arm to shine directly into Bitty’s eyes until he gave up on his dreams and went to make breakfast.

“Nice shirt, Bits,” Holster said, making Bitty start and splash a bit of hot egg onto Holster’s arm. Holster yelped, batting it off.

“That’s what you get for sneakin' up on someone at the stove to chirp ‘em,” Bitty said. He pulled the dishcloth off his shoulder and flung it at Holster.

“You don’t know I was gonna chirp you,” Holster objected. “I didn’t finish my thought.”

“Go on then, finish it.”

“Nice shirt, Bits.” Holster waggled his eyebrows in a manner eerily reminiscent of Shitty. “Looks better on you than it did on Jack yesterday.”

“Now, I don’t know what you’re implying, Adam, but I’m pretty sure it goes double for you, wearing Ransom’s boxers proud as day and all.”

“Am not.”

“Oh?” Bitty worked his spatula under the egg and flipped it, not looking at Holster. “Your mama sew _Justin Oluransi_ on all your clothes, then?”

Bitty saw Holster look down out of the corner of his eye. “Crap. Ah well.” He shrugged. “You don’t chirp me, I don’t chirp you?”

“You don’t chirp me, I let you have one of these omelets here in a few minutes.” Bitty turned off the stove and deposited the omelet onto the stack already waiting in the slightly-warmed oven. “Go and wake the others and I’ll keep the teasin’ to a minimum.”

“Deal.” Holster slid off the counter. “SHITS, JACKO, RANS! BREAKFAST!” He made for the hallway.

“Bro, where’d my underwear go?”

“WARMING IT UP FOR YOU, BRO! COMING YOUR WAY!”

Bitty wiped his hands on the discarded dishcloth and turned to see Jack cuff Holster across the head as he entered the kitchen. “Someone say something about breakfast?” Jack said, coming closer, eyes skimming over his sleeves where Bitty had rolled them up over his arms.

“I missed my calling as a housewife,” Bitty said, raising his arms. Jack slipped between them and kissed him slow and sweet, the way Bitty was quickly discovering was his favorite. “I would have been a great one. Man like you, kitchen like this? Heaven.”

Jack smiled and bit his lip, a worried little crease between his brows. “About that, euh. I’ve been meaning to ask -“

“Well, what have we here.” An unfamiliar face matched the unfamiliar voice, smirking at the two of them over a collared shirt and boat shoes. The newcomer leaned against the doorjamb, crossing his arms. “What’s up, Jackie?”

Jack dropped Bitty like he was on fire. “Uh, hey, Chad.”

That seemed to be the extent of Jack’s ability to speak. Bitty sighed and took over. “Pleasure to meet you, Chad.” Behind Chad, Holster poked his head into the hallway. Bitty could see his eyes go wide even at that distance, and he ducked back out of view. “I’m guessing this is your house?” Bitty went on.

“Good guess, little faggot.” Chad tapped his fingers against his arm, seemingly both irritated and impressed when Bitty kept his reaction to a long blink. “Now it’s my turn - I’m guessing your shitty little friends are around here somewhere?”

“I can’t speak for Jack, but I have no shitty little friends,” Bitty retorted. Half of him was screaming to shut up and _run,_ but the other half of him was too scared to move, and anyway he couldn’t leave Jack. “Unless you mean yourself?”

Chad laughed. “Oh, I’m not your friend, little faggot. I’m not even Jackie’s friend. Which makes me wonder what exactly it is you’re doing in my house.”

Next to Bitty, Jack opened his mouth to answer. Chad cut him off. “No need to trouble yourself, Jackie, I’m sure the police will tell me once they beat it out of you.”

Bitty shifted, putting one shoulder in front of Jack’s chest. There was no chance in hell he could fight Chad off if things got violent, but Jack clearly needed protecting, and there was no one else there to do it. “Now, I hardly think there’s any call for the police to be involved. Just give us five minutes and we’ll be out of your hair.”

Chad finally left the doorway, taking a step closer. “You think this is up for negotiation. That’s cute. No, I’m going to call the police and your little friends are going to be arrested for breaking and entering. I’m sure the police will be even more interested when I tell them _this_ one’s a dick-sucker.” He jerked his head towards Jack. “You may not know this, little boy, but Jackie and Shitty and I go _way_ back, so they’ve had it coming a long time.” He moved even closer, eyeing Bitty up and down. “But this is your first offense, and I’m willing to write it off.”

Bitty’s mouth was dry. “Just like that?”

Chad shrugged. “More or less.” His eyebrows made it clear what he wasn’t saying.

There was a moment when Bitty thought he’d fired off an answer without realizing it, because he watched Chad’s eyes widen steadily, almost bugging out of his head; but then his brain finished processing what he’d seen, and he took in Shitty, holding a brick from the driveway, slowly coming into view as Chad collapsed. The audible _thud_ processed slower than the visual, and it took Bitty another few seconds to piece together what had happened. Then all he could think to say was, “Well, _that’s_ going to keep you out of jail for sure.”

“Is he dead?” Ransom asked from the hallway, clinging to Holster’s shirt. “Did you kill him, is he dead?”

Bitty looked down. He could see Chad’s chest moving. “No, he’s still breathing.” Panic seemed very far away; he knew he would feel it eventually, but for now it - everything, really - seemed distant. He knelt and peered at the back of Chad’s head. There was blood matting his hair and spilling out onto the floor, but not as much as he’d feared. He stood back up. “We should put something on that, stop the bleeding,” he said. “Jack, pass me that dishrag.” No dishrag appeared in his line of sight. “Jack. _Jack.”_ Jack finally snapped to attention. “The dishrag?” Jack passed it to him. Bitty folded it up and pressed it to the wound.

“He might need a hospital,” Ransom said, far above Bitty’s head.

“We are _not_ taking this fucker _anywhere,_ ” Shitty snapped back. Bitty tuned them out, focusing on the slight rasp of Chad’s breathing and the way the rag felt against his fingers.

He came to outside, wrapped in Jack’s arms as Jack crouched against the rear tire of his truck. He started. “You zoned out,” Jack murmured into his hair. “I thought you could probably use some air.”

Bitty took a breath, and then another. “Thank you, sweetheart. We can go back inside now.” Jack’s arms didn’t loosen. “Jack? I’m fine now, I promise.”

Jack stayed quiet for another few seconds, and then said, “I’m not.”

“Oh, honey.” Bitty wriggled an arm free and wrapped it around Jack’s back. “That was scary, but we’re alright now.” He waited until the slight tremors he could feel in Jack’s frame subsided, and added, “Do you want to tell me the history there?”

“To be honest, I really don’t know how it started?” Jack said. “Shitty and Chad just hate each other. I’ve never been able to get a solid answer from Shits on _why,_ but at least now it’s partly because Chad and Lardo are dating, I think.”

“The mysterious Lardo,” Bitty murmured.

Against all odds, he could feel Jack smile against his temple. “She’s probably my best friend, aside from Shits. They used to date, though, and it ended badly. Shits won’t tell me what happened, which means it’s probably his fault. He thinks she’s dating Chad to get back at him.”

Bitty hummed. “Does that seem likely to you?”

Jack sighed. “I dunno. I wouldn’t have predicted it, but it wouldn’t surprise me, I think, if she told me that was why. No matter what, she’s not gonna be pleased about what happened.”

“Is that why you guys break into this house? Because Shitty hates Chad?”

“Heh. Yeah. We started this tradition about five years ago? And that was just after the feud started, so, yeah.”

They sat in silence for a few more minutes. “Ready to go back in?” Bitty asked eventually. “Because I don’t know about you, but I’m suddenly very nervous about leaving Shitty with an unconscious Chad.”

Jack huffed. “Shitty wouldn’t do anything, come on. But yeah, I think I’m good to go in. Thanks, Bits.”

“Thank _you_ for getting us some air in the first place.” Bitty slid off Jack’s lap and out of the truck. “You were right, I think I needed the break.”

Chad was groaning on the linoleum when Bitty and Jack came back in. “I don’t think he’ll bleed out,” Ransom reported, peering at the back of his head. “He’s already clotting up.”

“What are we going to do, what the fuck are we going to _do,_ ” Holster hissed, quieter than Bitty had ever heard him. “Shitty, what do we do?”

Shitty seemed at just as much of a loss, but after a few seconds he shook his head. “We’ll tie him up,” Shitty said. “We’ll tie him up in the spare room and, I don’t know, threaten him or something to keep him quiet.” He looked up at Bitty and Jack. “You two are the only ones he knows were here. What do you think?”

Bitty didn’t like it, but he couldn’t think of anything better to do. “I really don’t want to go to prison,” he said finally, unable to come up with anything better. Jack squeezed his shoulder and kept quiet.

Between them, Ransom and Holster managed to get Chad into the empty room without too much jostling. Shitty went in with them, to oversee the tying-down. Jack seemed disinclined to leave Bitty’s side, which was convenient, because Bitty felt like he might start screaming if Jack went out of his line of sight for more than a few seconds. Together, they got the bloodstain from Chad’s head wound out of the kitchen linoleum, and then Bitty set them both to baking. Shitty came in at one point and fixed two sandwiches, weaving in between Bitty’s well-paced paths on the floor. “Gotta make sure the shit doesn’t starve to death,” was all Shitty said, before taking the plate into the room where Chad stayed tied up.

“We’re out of flour,” Bitty said as the sun went down. “And butter. And…everything else.”

“We’ve been busy,” Jack answered into the side of Bitty’s head. It was true; there was pie on every surface in the kitchen, and some spillover into the living room. “We’ll get some more before breakfast tomorrow.”

Bitty looked at the array. “Y’know, sweetheart,” he murmured, for Jack’s ears only. “I don’t think pie is gonna fix this one.”

“Maybe not. But if it does, we’re all set.”

\-- 

They’d missed a spray of blood on the underside of the counter, Holster discovered when he dropped a bit of toast at breakfast and dove to scoop it into his mouth. Bitty and Jack having taken care of the lion’s share the day before, Ransom, Holster, and Shitty teamed up to clean this one. “Lardo’s going to kill us all when she finds out about this,” Ransom muttered to himself as he scrubbed. He’d taken to muttering to himself a lot; Bitty had been kept up by the low buzz of his voice for a lot of the previous night.

“Bro, she _totally will,_ but only if she finds out,” Holster said. “No reason she should, unless one of us tells her. And I, frankly, am too terrified of her to tell her.”

Ransom frowned, as though this genuinely had not occurred to him. “I think I assumed Shitty would tell her? You’re gonna tell her, right?” he added to the man in question.

“Rans,” Holster hissed. “You know they’re not talking right now, after -”

“For fuck’s sake,” Shitty shouted, slapping his hand into the bucket. Water splashed out, followed by his clenched fist. “Lardo did not dump me,” he went on through gritted teeth. “ _I_ broke up with _her._ ”

“ _Bro._ ” Ransom’s jaw dropped. “Fucking _why_?”

“An excellent question,” came an unfamiliar voice from behind Shitty. The boys all flung themselves around, allowing Bitty a glimpse of a tiny Asian woman on the threshold, one hand on her hip. “One which I’ve tried to get an answer to and failed, so let’s move on to question number two, which is: What the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

Shitty recovered first. “What the fuck are _you_ doing here?” he snapped, shaking water droplets off his hand and standing. “Seriously, Lards, if you’re fucking Chad just to get back at me -”

“Shockingly enough, not everything I do is about you,” Lardo retorted. She started walking towards the group; Holster and Ransom took defensive steps backward. “And unless you’re _also_ fucking Chad, you have even less reason to be here than I do.”

“You cannot be serious -“

Bitty pulled out his Mama’s best Southern Debutante voice. “Enough!” Shitty fell silent, wheeling to blink at Bitty like he’d forgotten he was there. “Nobody ever solved nothin’ by shouting,” Bitty went on. “Now, I’m guessing you’re the famous Lardo?” Laredo gave a sharp nod, eyeing him suspiciously. “Well then, it’s nice to finally meet you. What’s your poison?”

Ransom let out a single hysterical giggle; Lardo’s gaze flicked to him momentarily. “Gonna have to give me a bit more to go on than that, Short Stuff,” she finally answered Bitty. “Alcohol? Chocolate? Men?”

“Pie,” Bitty said, extending a hand toward the kitchen. “I’ve got peach and maple apple still warm, and a blueberry in the oven. And you can call me Bitty.”

Bitty set to work whipping up a chocolate pecan pie after wrestling Lardo’s preferences out of her, leaving the boys to explain the situation. There was no chance of hiding it; she’d walked in on them cleaning up blood, and just a scant few minutes in her presence made Bitty certain of the futility of lying to her.

“What the _fuck,_ ” he heard her shout after a while, and then the sound of her feet running to the room where Chad sat hidden.

“Lards - Lardo, don’t do anything stupid,” Shitty called, following her. Bitty heard the door slam open, a few footsteps as they went in, and then Shitty shouted.

“What the hell,” Bitty muttered, throwing down his spoon and going out. Jack was backing away from the door when Bitty rounded the corner, and Bitty put a hand on his arm before turning and looking in.

Chad was dead. There was no mistaking it. The slump of his head on his shoulder was unnatural, something no sleeping person would ever contort themselves into, and he clearly wasn’t breathing. Bitty turned on his heel and went back to the kitchen.

 The others followed, before long.

“Look, it’s simple, Jack and Bitty can just get a bunch of bleach the next time they go on their grocery store run, we’ll slap it everywhere and slip out in the dead of night, chuck the body over the pier.”

“That well-lit pier in the center of the whole damn beach, you mean? And I think someone’ll remember two guys buying _a bunch of bleach_ a few days before a murder victim is discovered, Rans!”

“Stop shouting,” Lardo said, rubbing her temples. “Okay, so cleaning is out. What if we went the other way? Get a whole bunch of people in here to touch everything, tons of different fingerprints, they’ll never isolate ours.”

“We drag him out and put him in his car -“

“Ransom, stop overthinking everything. Holster, pipe down and put this on that windowsill.” Bitty slid the fresh pie down the counter and threw Holster his oven mitts. “Lardo, explain.”

“I came down here to scope out Chad’s house for a party, right? So what if we held the party? Get everyone in and drunk enough, I doubt they’ll even wonder where Chad is, and boom, tons of fingerprints and hair and shit everywhere, not just ours. By the time the cops find the body and start looking for evidence it’ll be too late.”

Shitty shook his head. “The smell, Lardo. And sure, there’ll be no usable evidence, but they’ll be able to tell the body’s been dead for too long to have been killed at the party.”

Jack pointed out the window. “There’s the boat house.” Everyone turned to look at him. “We could stash the body in there during the party, move it back after. We’d just have to wipe down that door, not the whole house.”

“And I know we haven’t known each other long, Shitty Knight, but if you think I’ll be in attendance at a party and _not_ baking up a storm, then we need to have a few more conversations,” Bitty put in. “That, plus we pour out a six-pack in a few strategic locations, no one’ll notice the residual smell.”

“And everyone’ll be stoned,” Lardo put in. Bitty raised his eyebrow at her. She shrugged. “Artists.”

“How soon can you get all your artists friends down here?” Bitty asked. “The sooner the better.”

She shrugged again. “Hell, tomorrow, if we can get enough alcohol in time. Most of them are in Boston or Providence. If I let them know tonight, we could sell it as an all-day rager and start in the morning, even.”

Bitty rubbed his hands together. “Alright. So, plan: Jack and I take care of the drinks today. Lardo, call your friends. Ransom and Holster, you’re on body moving duty tonight, Shitty overseeing. We’re all on bloodstain watch, cleaning as we find them, and we get this done tomorrow. Yes?”

He got a silent chorus of nods. “C’mon,” Jack said unexpectedly, moving to the door. “Let’s make that beer run now, get it over with.” His shoulders were tense.

Bitty pointed a finger at Holster, then at Shitty. “If there ain’t two sizable chunks of that pie left when we get back, y’all and I _will_ have words, you hear?” Shitty rolled his eyes. Holster nodded obediently. Bitty followed Jack out to his truck. “Did you need a minute, sweetheart?”

Jack turned to him. “No, but I think you might. You’re shaking,” he clarified.

Bitty lifted a hand to look at; it was, indeed, shaking like a leaf. “Would you look at that.” He managed to get the door open before his knees went out, and he landed on the passenger seat. “We killed someone,” he said faintly, looking up at Jack. “Jack, we _killed_ someone.”

“ _You_ didn’t do anything,” Jack said quickly, putting his hands on Bitty’s shoulders. “Someone died, but of all of us in the house, Bits, you’re the absolute least to blame.”

The laugh that forced its way out of Bitty’s throat was only slightly hysterical. “That doesn’t really help, honey, but thank you.” He tipped his forehead onto Jack’s stomach and breathed for a minute. “Okay,” he said, once his hands weren’t trembling quite as much anymore. “Let’s go get some beer.”

 They got some beer, and returned to the house to find Chad already removed to the boat house. “I thought the plan was to wait for dark to move him,” Bitty said, stashing the drinks in the fridge. “Less chance of being seen.”

“Less chance of being seen but more chance of being suspicious as fuck if we were seen,” Lardo said from her perch on the kitchen counter. “Holster donated a pair of sunglasses and they shuffled him outside between the two of them. If anyone was watching, it looked like three bros who were unusually comfortable with physical closeness going out to the boathouse.”

“Clever.” Bitty shut the fridge door. “Have you ever gotten rid of a body before?”

Lardo laughed. “No, I just have two brain cells to rub together that haven’t been drowned in weed and tub juice.” She slid off the counter and hooked her arm through Bitty’s. “Now, I don’t have a big strong boyfriend to sweep me away when I’m getting shaky. I have to do the sweeping myself. Come for a walk with me, we need to bond anyway.”

They pilfered two of the party beers and wandered down to the beach. “I don’t think you can call Jack my boyfriend if he and I haven’t talked about labels,” Bitty said, once they were settled on the sand.

Lardo snorted. “Jack doesn’t do anything by halves. I guarantee you he’s already thinking of you as his boyfriend.” She nudged him. “And don’t frown. Trust me, I’ve known Jack just as long as Shitty has. The way he was hovering around you, I don’t think he’s planning to be done with you when the vacation’s over.”

Bitty had been desperately avoiding the topic of their impending separation for days, and he wasn’t about to give up on that streak now. “What happened with Shitty? Literally everyone in that Haus assumed you did the dumping, and I have to say, having met you, I see why.”

“Who the fuck knows.” She scuffed her fingers through the sand, scooping it up into a pile. “It’s probably some shit like he doesn’t want me to have suffer through his family’s racist bullshit and so he broke up with me to spare me that, if I had to guess.” She grinned, although it wasn’t happy. “Idiot gets so worked up about not being a racist douchebag like his dad that he loses sight of what’s his decision to make and what isn’t.”

“That sounds like him.”

“If I didn’t love him, I’d fucking hate his guts, I swear. White boys,” she said in a despairing tone, and then added, “No offense.”

“Don’t even worry about me.”

 --

Bitty opened the door the next afternoon to find a large person, backlit by car headlights, standing with their fists on their hips in the doorframe. “Y’all here for the party?” Bitty asked.

The figure reached out their hands to grasp Bitty’s shoulders. “I want to make it very clear that I don’t approve,” they intoned in a deep voice. “This is decidedly _not_ my favorite universe. But it’s what we got, and we’re gonna make the best of it. Never fear, Bitty. You’ll be just fine.”

This pronouncement made, the figure gently pushed Bitty aside and entered the house. “Johnson!” Bitty heard Shitty yell. “You made it!”

“Couldn’t miss it if I tried, bro.”

Johnson, it seemed, was at the head of a train of cars; the house was packed within forty-five minutes of his arrival, and the living room was impassable without getting a contact high. Lardo was in the midst of that particular crowd, holding court with apparent ease. Shitty was pressed up against her side, knees overlapping. It was almost sweet, although Bitty could hardly feel it through the churning of anxiety he couldn’t seem to shake. He cracked open another beer and watched Johnson set up a vicious game of beer pong in the room Chad had died in.

“Oh, shit!” Holster yelled, passing the open door. “Lardo! PONG!”

Bitty stayed long enough to watch her demolish the first wave of challengers, then took his beer into the kitchen. It was surprisingly empty, given the throngs in the rest of the house, and he took advantage of the space to get three pies in the oven in no time. He set the oven timer, made a halfhearted attempt to brush the flour off his hands, and yelped as a warm presence enveloped him from behind. “Getting baked?” Jack said into his ear.

“Good gravy, Jack, is that the best you can think of?” Bitty wriggled free and turned around, noticing the red cup in Jack’s hand. “Oh, I see.” He reached up to poke Jack in the forehead. “You’re impaired.” It was possible he missed and hit the bridge of Jack’s nose instead. Possibly he should slow down the drinking.

Jack gave him a slow, lazy smile, turning Bitty’s knees to water, and leaned on the counter next to him. “How’re you holding up?”

“Barely,” Bitty said quietly, only able to admit it because he was so drunk. “I think Johnson knows.”

Jack shrugged. “He might. The guy’s weird, Ransom thinks he’s psychic. But he’s a good guy.”

“He told me I was gonna be just fine.”

Jack nudged him with his shoulder. “Well, there you go. You’re going to be just fine.”

Bitty looked up at him. There was a distinctly non-zero chance Bitty was already in love. “You too,” he said. “You’re gonna be fine too.”

Jack’s eyes darkened. From the beer pong tournament, Johnson let out a massive bellow, and Jack leaned down to kiss Bitty while everyone was distracted. “See?” he murmured. “Psychic.”

\-- 

The party petered out sometime after two in the morning. Bitty and Jack carefully picked their way through the mess of passed-out bodies to bed, managing to miss most of them. Thankfully, they didn’t have to oust anyone from the bed and were able to sink into it without further delay.

“You were going to ask me something,” Bitty said, tracing his fingertip across Jack’s collarbone in the dark. “Before - before Chad showed up, you were going to ask me something.”

Jack reached up and pulled Bitty’s fingers up to his lips. He kissed them softly, put them back on his chest, and said, “I was going to ask you to come to Providence with me.”

Bitty almost sat up, but it would have dislodged the sheet, and he wasn’t ready to be out of their little cocoon just yet. “What? You mean… What does that mean?”

Bitty could feel Jack’s shrug in the shifting of the sheet. “It means pretty much what it sounds like. I wanted to ask if you’d consider coming and living with me in Providence, once we leave here.”

“Oh.” Bitty thought. “Do you - is that a question you’re still interested asking me now, or did the urge pass?”

Jack kissed him. “It hasn’t passed. I still want that.”

“Jack, we’ve known each other for two weeks.”

“Yes, and I want to know you a lot longer.” Jack brushed his fingers along Bitty’s cheek. “I need you close for that, not locked up in some church basement in Georgia somewhere. And it’d be dumb to ask you to get your own place in Providence, I’ve got the space and I think we’d be in each other’s pockets all the time no matter where you lived.” He shifted, rolling a little closer so he could pass his hand down Bitty’s back and onto his rear. “I don’t need rent money, and you don’t have any anyway, but I could stand a little more variety in my diet. I stick to unseasoned chicken and rice when left to my own devices.” Bitty shuddered, making Jack laugh. “I think we’d be good together, and I can’t think of any reason why we shouldn’t give it a go, unless you don’t want to.”

“Wait.” Bitty finally sat up, squinting at the opposite wall and thinking hard. “Are you asking me to come be a housewife?”

He turned back to Jack, who grinned. “My kitchen’s even better than the one here. Much more space, and two ovens.”

“ _Two_ ovens,” Bitty repeated, and launched himself sideways. Jack grabbed him as they kissed, one hand in Bitty’s hair and the other firmly fixed on his ass. “You make a compelling argument, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty whispered, sucking at the underside of Jack’s jaw.

Jack’s hips shifted up under him, his dick already growing as Bitty licked at him. “I’ve got an even better closer,” he answered, already gratifyingly breathless.

“Oh?” Bitty kissed his mouth, tongues sloppy as Jack rocked them together. “Whenever you’re ready, counsel.”

Another shift and he was on his back. Jack splayed himself across Bitty, weight bearing down at his knees and wrists, and Bitty moaned, loud even through the barrier of Jack’s mouth on his. “One day I’ll have you somewhere I can lay you out properly, without worrying about volume,” Jack whispered, and before Bitty could buck up against him again Jack was sliding down, mouth slipping over the head of Bitty’s dick and down, down, down, until Bitty had to shove his knuckles in his mouth to keep from waking the rest of the house.

 --

When Bitty stumbled out of Jack’s room in search of coffee the next morning, he almost tripped over a hipster passed out in front of the door. He turned around and went back inside. “Jack,” he said, slumping down on the bed and nudging Jack’s shoulder with his head. “Jack, Jack Jack Jack.”

Jack gave a muffled grumble into his pillow. “What.”

“I need coffee but there are blacked out artists in the way. Make them move.”

Jack lifted his head and squinted. “If I gave you a boost you could get out through the window, get to the kitchen through the back door.”

“But then you’ll still be trapped in here, without coffee _and_ without me.”

“Hmm.” Jack dropped his head down into the pillow. “On the other hand, maybe you’d better stay here. The smell of coffee might start a stampede.” One hand squirmed out and landed on Bitty’s wrist, tugging him back into bed. Jack curled around him, purring like a contented cat. “Best if you just stay right here.”

Well, _now_ there was no way Bitty could leave. Jack was too adorable. He snuggled down into Jack’s arms and gave up on coffee for the time being.

A peaceful forty-five minutes passed before there was a rap on their door. “Whozit,” Jack said, snapping into wakefulness.

“It’s Johnson, man.” The door cracked open to reveal Johnson, the hipster trip hazard now slung over his shoulders. “I’ve got everyone cleared out, I think. There’s one or two dragging their feet, but they should be out of your hair in ten minutes, if I’ve got my timelines right.”

Bitty gaped at him. From behind Bitty’s head, Jack gave an incredulous-sounding, “Uh, thanks, man. Appreciate your help.”

“’S what I’m here for,” Johnson said, and chuckled like he’d made a really great joke. Sobering, he caught Bitty’s eye. “I want you to know, Bitty, I meant every word I said last night. You’re going to be just fine. But also? Maybe look up the word ‘dissociation’ when you get somewhere with a dictionary. Your avoidance tactics aren’t entirely your fault.”

Before Bitty could even _begin_ to formulate a response, Jack’s arm entered his field of vision, flipping Johnson off. “Too far, Johnson.”

“Fair enough. Hard to know the limits sometimes.” Johnson sighed. “Alright, bros, I’m out. Great party.” He shut the door behind him, and Bitty could hear him make his way down the hall.

“What the hell is _with_ that guy.”

“I asked him once and he just went ‘I’m metaphysical’ and grinned.” Jack pressed down on Bitty’s shoulder until he rolled over to face Jack, and then kissed him. “How will we spend the next ten minutes until everyone’s out, I wonder.”

 Once everyone was clear, the day started moving fast, much faster than Bitty would like. Holster and Ransom shuffled Chad back into the house, and Bitty and Jack wiped down the boat house and all the doors they had walked through. Lardo and Shitty made a perfunctory pass at cleaning up the worst of the party mess, but the plan was to leave it still pretty rough. Ransom, it was determined, had the least distinctive voice out of all of them, and so was put in charge of calling in an anonymous tip to the police from a train station pay phone that evening.

Bitty packed his meager belongings, most of which were in Jack’s room. He thought about Providence, and about Georgia, and the look on his father’s face when he told Bitty to take the summer and really think about what he wanted out of life. He tried thinking about the possibility of never seeing Jack again, but that hurt enough that he couldn’t keep it up for more than a few seconds at a time. Jack, as always, was never more than an arm’s length away, and Bitty found himself reaching out that arm more than once, to be towed in for a hug and a kiss on his cheek or forehead.

They split up two to a car: Ransom and Holster, Shitty and Lardo, Jack and Bitty. They rode in silence until Jack took the turn for what Bitty had come to think of as _their parking lot_. “Did you get a chance to think at all about what I said?” Jack asked, eyes staring out the windshield. “Because I can take you to the airport, or we could just go to Providence now.”

“Honey, I’ve done nothing _but_ think about what you said.”

“And?”

Bitty chewed on his lip, then said, “I want to give my folks one more chance, Jack. I have to try just one more time and see if I still got parents.” Jack shut his eyes and started to nod. Bitty put a hand on his knee. “But that does _not,_ ” he said, squeezing until Jack looked at him, “mean I’m done with you, Mr. Zimmermann. Not by a long shot.” He pulled out the piece of paper and pen he’d stolen from the house and passed them over. “Phone number and address. If they take me back, I’ll call you, or write to you, and we’ll figure somethin’ out.”

Jack started scratching out his details against the dashboard. “What if they don’t let you? What if they don’t take you back but they don’t let you go either?”

“I seriously doubt it’ll get that far, they know I’ll raise hell if they try anything and the last thing they want is a scene.” Bitty folded the paper and tucked it into the pocket of his shorts; he’d copy it out later and put a spare set in his bag, just in case. He wasn’t taking any chances. “But how about this. If you don’t hear from me one way or another in two weeks, y’all come stage a rescue mission. But no murder,” he added hastily, just to hear Jack chuckle.

“No murder,” he agreed. Then he turned thoughtful. “Two weeks. We’ll have spent as long apart as we have together.”

Bitty had been trying not to think about that. “Well, I guess - I mean, if it comes time and you realize you don’t want me there anymore -”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Jack -”

Jack’s hand landed on Bitty’s, still rubbing circles into Jack’s knee. “Bits. I know it sounds crazy, but I also know my own mind, and the thought that I could ever not want you around…” He shook his head. “Trust me. That is not going to happen.”

Bitty kissed him, pulling him in and in and in until he was no longer at risk of visibly tearing up. “Well,” he murmured. “That’s that, I guess.”

Jack snuck one more kiss before leaning back. “Airport it is, then.”

It was a two-hour ride to the airport. They didn’t stop touching for a single minute of it, Bitty’s hand in Jack’s hand or on his knee or drumming against his shoulder. At red lights Jack would pick up Bitty’s other hand and press his mouth to it. They pulled over at another deserted gas station to grab hold of each other, kissing as deeply as they could manage without Bitty going over the console. “Jack,” Bitty murmured, finally pulling back.

“I know,” Jack said. He rested his forehead against Bitty’s for a moment before straightening up. “I know.”

Jack almost insisted on going into the airport to see Bitty off; Bitty only managed to talk him down by pointing out that their goodbyes were liable to get them both arrested, if he did that. Jack sighed and pulled out his wallet instead. “Here,” he said, pulling out a handful of cash and thrusting it at Bitty. “For the flight.”

“Jack, I have enough for the airfare.” Bitty’s parents had deposited some money in his account a few days ago, in preparation for the end of summer.

“I know, but.” Jack paused and took a breath. “I want you to have some spare when you land. In case things go badly.”

“Jack -”

“Please?” Jack cut him off. “Humor me. I’ll sleep better if I know you have enough spare to get somewhere safe.”

It was a _lot_ of money. Bitty took it. “Well, alright. But I’m paying you back one day.”

“Deal.” Jack looked around, making sure no one was looking at where he was parked, before drawing Bitty in and kissing him. “I love you,” he mumbled against Bitty’s lips, and then flushed. “Sorry,” he said, leaning back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that now - bad timing -”

Bitty kissed him. “I love you too, honey.” _At least we’ve had that,_ he didn’t say. Instead, he pressed his hand against Jack’s cheek for a moment, drinking in the sight of him, and then he turned and opened the truck door, bag strap in hand.

 --

_Two_ _weeks later_

 

Bitty heard footsteps coming down the stairs and hastened to pour out a fresh cup of coffee, milk and sugar, just the way his Moo-Maw liked it. She accepted it with a smile when she finally made it into the kitchen. “Good morning, child.”

“Morning, Moo-Maw.”

They passed the morning mostly without speaking, the scratch of Moo-Maw’s pen over the Sunday crossword and the slap of dough under Bitty’s hands the only sounds until lunch. Moo-Maw made sandwiches as Bitty put the pie in the oven.

“I wish I could say they’d come around, child,” Moo-Maw finally said, over leftover slices from the day before, “but we both know they’re hard-headed fools when they want to be. It grieves me.”

“I know, Moo-Maw.” Bitty reached out to pat her hand. “It ain’t your fault.”

“I raised one of them, it’s half my fault.”

“Well, I don’t blame you, how about that?”

“That’ll have to do.” She took a sip of coffee, her third cup of the morning. She drank too much of it, but Bitty’d long since given up trying to talk her out of it. “You don’t have to leave, you know.” She raised her eyebrows at his glance. “I heard you packin’ up your things last night, child. I can put two and two together. I don’t give a damn what your parents say, you’ve always got a home here with me.”

He had to blink tears out of his eyes. “That means…more than I can say, Moo-Maw. But I do. I got someone waiting for me. At least, I hope I still do.” He shook his head. “No, I do. I trust him.”

“Oh now, do you?” She smiled at him. “Well, I hope you realize you’ve condemned him. I’m going to have to meet him, and I’m not getting any younger, child.”

“He’d love to meet you, Moo-Maw. And pshaw, you’re in the pink of health, stop lyin’.”

She sighed, overly dramatic. “I can’t stand in the way of love, I suppose. Go off to your waiting gentleman, and don’t be too long about bringing him by.”

“You won’t even have time to miss me, Moo-Maw. Swear it.”

 --

The piece of paper with Jack’s address was so crumpled and worn that Jack’s handwriting was almost illegible. It didn’t matter, Bitty had long ago memorized it, but it still made him sad to see.

His blood began to race as the taxi pulled up to the curb in front of Jack’s building. Bitty handed over a wad of cash to the driver. He knew Jack would be pleased to see him; Jack had promised, and Bitty trusted him. But Moo-Maw had only been able to spare so much money; if Jack had changed his mind about letting Bitty stay…

_I’ll be_ fine, Bitty thought to himself. He had enough for a room for a few nights, and if the summer had taught him anything, it was that he could take care of himself. He had options.

All the same, he stood outside Jack’s door for a solid five minutes, garnering his courage. So much could have changed. Jack might have met someone else. He might have moved. He might have roommates. He might be less attractive than Bitty remembered!

_Enough._ Bitty knocked. It took a minute, but eventually the door opened and put his last worry to rest. Lord, but was this boy beautiful. “Hello, Jack.”

“Bits,” Jack managed, his eyes wide and tracking all over Bitty’s face and body. He looked stunned, but not in a bad way, which gave Bitty the courage to keep talking.

“Still got room for one more in here?”

Jack reached out, grabbed him by the wrist, and pulled him into the apartment. Bitty had time to take in the sight of a large, comfortable-looking couch and a positively sinful kitchen before Jack put one of his big, rough hands on Bitty’s face, and then he had to drop his bag and fling himself into Jack’s waiting arms.

Any doubts Bitty still had about his welcome evaporated as he and Jack stumbled into the kitchen, kissing and clawing at each other. He was dimly aware of Jack’s hands scrabbling at his ass, and then Jack hauled him up and deposited him onto the kitchen counter, never stopping the movement of his mouth over Bitty’s. A warm arm slipped around Bitty’s waist, and Bitty threw his own around Jack’s shoulders, doing his best to keep up with Jack’s hurried, frantic kisses. He reached a leg up around Jack’s hip and pulled him in closer. Jack broke off with a groan, burying his face in Bitty’s neck and shoulder. “God, Bits,” he gasped, clinging tighter. “I missed you so much.”

Bitty pet his hair, catching his breath. “I missed you too, honey. So much,” and then they were kissing again, hands tugging as much clothing off as they could without separating. Finally Bitty broke away and pulled his shirt over his head. “I believe I was promised something about laying me out and making me scream?” he asked.

Jack bit at his nipple. “Shitty and Lardo are gonna be here in half an hour. I thought you were them, just early.”

Bitty gasped as Jack lapped lower down his stomach. “Honey, this ain’t gonna take half an hour.”

Jack sucked a mark onto Bitty’s hipbone as his fingers worked Bitty’s shorts open. “If you think I can put you in my bed and then let you go after round one, you’re out of your mind. Here,” and he yanked Bitty’s boxers down and slid his mouth around Bitty’s dick.

“Yeah, okay, that’ll do,” Bitty babbled, shoving his fingers into Jack’s hair as he sucked. Jack was bent nearly double, it couldn’t be comfortable at all, but Jack didn’t stop to readjust, didn’t let up at all until Bitty was crying out and spilling into his mouth. “My turn,” Bitty gasped as soon as he could form words, sitting up and pushing Jack backwards towards a chair at the nearby table, slipping off the counter and onto his knees to return the favor.

Jack was gratifyingly worked up and it took even less time for him than it had for Bitty; when the knock on the door came, Bitty was in his lap on the chair, being thoroughly and lazily kissed. Bitty dropped into the chair on his own as Jack did up his pants fly and went to answer the door. “What is _up,_ brah?” he heard Shitty holler as soon as the door opened. “I’d ask how you are but you look like you just got your dick sucked, so you’ve gotta be doing pretty swell.”

Bitty heard Jack chuckle. “Euh, about that. Guess who’s here?”

“No way!” Shitty ran through the entryway, skidding to a halt and pointing at Bitty. “Brah! You came back!”

“Sorry for crashing your plans.”

Lardo followed at a more sedate pace, Jack bringing up the rear. “Don’t apologize,” she said, shrugging off her coat and handing it to Jack. “He’s been miserable since you left.”

“Oh? Have you been pining for me, Jack?”

Jack leaned down, picking up Bitty’s hand and pulling him to his feet. “Every minute.” He tucked Bitty against his side, and Bitty finally let himself relax.

**Author's Note:**

> The minor character death is Chad.


End file.
